“The Old Vic, please.”
Lana could feel herself calming down as the taxi raced over the bridge to the theater on the South Bank. In her mind, she could already picture them laughing about it—Kate telling her not to be silly, that she was imagining things; that it was absurd, that Jason was devoted to her. As she pictured this conversation, Lana felt a sudden rush of affection for Kate—her oldest, dearest friend. Thank God for Kate.
Or is that bullshit? Did Lana secretly suspect something? Why else race to the theater like that? I’ll tell you one thing: after decades of being styled and photographed, modeling one piece or another, Lana had developed a photographic memory regarding clothing and items of jewelry. I find it hard to believe that she would think the earring familiar, yet be strangely unable to recall where she had seen it—or on whom. Perhaps I’m wrong. But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure.
By the time Lana arrived at the Old Vic, she had calmed herself down; convinced it was all in her mind, she was just being paranoid.
Lana knocked at the stage-door window, presenting the old man in the booth with her famous smile.
His face lit up as he recognized her. “Afternoon. Looking for Miss Crosby, are you?”
“That’s right.”
“She’s in rehearsal at the moment. I’ll buzz you in.” He lowered his voice, confidentially. “Even though you’re not on the list.”
Lana smiled again. “Thank you. I’ll wait in her dressing room, if that’s all right?”
“Very good, miss.” He pressed a button.
With a loud buzz the stage door unlocked. Lana hesitated for a second. Then she opened the door and went inside.
7
Lana made her way along the stuffy, narrow corridor until she reached the star’s dressing room.
She knocked on the door. No reply. So she cautiously opened it. The room was empty. She went inside, shutting the door behind her.
It was not a large room. It had a tatty couch against one wall, a narrow shower room—essentially a cubicle—and a large, well-lit dressing table. Typical of Kate, it was a mess, with half-unpacked bags and clothes everywhere.
Lana took a breath. Then she began—at last—to be honest with herself. By that I mean she quickly and methodically started looking through Kate’s belongings. Even as she did this, Lana remained mentally disassociated from her actions. She stayed calm and detached, as if her hands were operating beyond her control, her fingers rifling through the bags and boxes of their own accord. Nothing to do with her.
In any case, the search yielded nothing.
What a relief, she thought. Thank Christ for that.
Of course she found nothing: there was nothing to be found. Everything was okay. This was all in her head.
Then she noticed the large black makeup bag, sitting on the dressing table. She froze. How had she not seen it? It was right there.
Lana reached out, with trembling fingers. She unzipped the bag—opening it up …
And there, inside the bag … was a half-crescent moon earring, glinting at her.
Lana pulled out the other earring from her pocket. She compared both earrings, but there was no need. They were obviously identical.
The dressing room door suddenly opened behind her.
“Lana?”
Lana dropped one earring back in the makeup bag. Her hand closed around the other earring. She quickly turned around.
Kate walked in, smiling. “Hello, love. Oh, shit—we haven’t made plans, have we? I can’t get away for hours yet. Today’s a fucking disaster. I could happily murder Gordon.”
“No, Kate, no plans. I was just passing the theater. I thought I’d say hi.”
“Are you okay?” Kate peered at her, concerned. “Lana—you don’t look well. Do you want some water? Here, sit down—”
“No, thanks. You know, I don’t feel great. Too much walking, I—I should go.”
“Are you sure? Shall I get you a cab?”
“I can manage.”
“Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll call you later.”
Before Kate could object, Lana hurried out of the dressing room.
She left the theater. She didn’t stop until she was on the street. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She felt like her head might explode. She was finding it hard to breathe. She felt panicked; she had to get home.
Lana saw a passing taxi and hailed it. As she waved down the cab, she realized she still had the earring in her fist.
She opened her hand and looked at it.
The earring had dug so deep into her palm, it had drawn blood.
8
As she returned to Mayfair, Lana was in shock.
The physical ache in her palm, where the earring had dug into her hand, was her only sensation. She focused on it, feeling it pulse and throb.
When she got home, she knew, she would have to face her husband. She had no idea what to say or how to say it. So, for the moment, she would say nothing. Jason was bound to see how upset she was, but she’d do her best to hide it.
It was typical of Jason, however, when he did finally return that evening, that he didn’t notice anything was wrong. He was preoccupied by his own problems—on a tense business call as he walked into the kitchen; then sending emails on his phone, while Lana prepared two steaks for their dinner.
It was interesting, Lana thought, how heightened her senses were. Everything felt so vivid—the smell of the steaks, the sizzling, the sensation of the knife in her hand as she chopped a salad—as if her brain had slowed itself right down to the present second. Right now was all she could deal with. She didn’t dare think of the future. If she did, she would crumple onto the kitchen floor.
Lana managed to keep going, and the evening passed, much like any other. A couple of hours after dinner, they went upstairs. Lana watched Jason undress and get into bed. He soon fell asleep.
But Lana was wide-awake. She got out of bed. She stood above Jason, watching him.
She didn’t know what to do. She had to confront him. But how? What could she possibly say? That she suspected him of having an affair with her best friend? Based on what? An earring? It was ridiculous. Jason would probably laugh—and offer a perfectly innocent explanation.
If this were a movie, she thought—like one of those candyfloss romantic comedies she used to make—it would turn out that Kate met Jason secretly to help him select a birthday present for Lana—or perhaps an anniversary gift?—and somehow, in a moment of heightened physical comedy, Kate’s earring got attached to the lapel of his jacket.
There you go, perfectly innocuous.
But Lana didn’t buy it. As she watched Jason sleep, she began to admit the truth to herself. The truth was she had known, for some time, that there was something—some kind of feeling—between Kate and Jason. Perhaps it had always been there, right from the start. From the very beginning?
Kate met Jason first, you see. They even went out a few times. The night Lana met Jason, he was there as Kate’s date.
You can imagine what happened—the instant Jason saw Lana, like so many others before him, he fell; and from then, only had eyes for her. Kate graciously stepped aside. It was all resolved quite amicably. Kate gave Lana her blessing and assured her she had no hard feelings; that there had been nothing serious between them.
Even so, Lana had felt guilty about it. Perhaps this guilt is what blinded her. Perhaps that was why she kept ignoring her nagging suspicion that, for all her protestations, Kate’s eyes always lingered on Jason when he was in the room; and she would pay him odd, unexpected compliments; or flirt with him after a couple of drinks and try to make him laugh. It was all there, everything Lana needed to know, right there in front of her.
She had shut her eyes to it.
But, now, her eyes were open.